


No More Therapists, Please

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Gibbs' Family [42]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Age Play, Gen, I'm Sorry, Neurotic Tendencies, Non-Sexual Age Play, Panic Attacks, Running Away, There isn't a lot of age play in this one, Toys, Worried Gibbs, record players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8083864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: McGee is wiped out from work when Gibbs suggests he comes over. But does he have an ulterior motive? Pretty soon after Katie, but from Timmy's perspective.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for the anonymous commenter infinityonrhi. While I can't gift it to them, being anonymous and all, they enabled me. So...enjoy!

McGee leaned back in his chair at the end of the day and stretched. His back ached from typing at computers for hours, and not just his, but Abby's as well. Today was a day filled with paperwork and cold cases, and all the man really wanted was to go home and sleep. He sat forward and logged off his computers. "About time," a voice said from behind him. Whirling around, McGee came face-to-face with Gibbs. "I was wondering when you'd decide you were done. Tonight I was hoping you'd be willing to come to my house?"

"Um..." McGee thought it over. He didn't feel great and just wanted to fall asleep, but there was no reason he couldn't do that at Gibbs' house as Timmy. "Okay. Should I drive or...?"

"I'll take care of it," Gibbs said. "I asked DiNozzo a while ago, he promised to be big until someone was there to watch him."

McGee nodded and stood up, gathering his things before he followed Gibbs to the elevator. It had been 2 weeks since Kate had died, and McGee was feeling a little better about the whole thing, though not 100%. The David woman...Ziva, his mind supplied, had gone back to Israel and hadn't looked back, as far as McGee knew. They were going through different temporary agents, none of them to Gibbs' satisfaction. McGee wondered if anyone would be able to take Kate's place on the team. Not replace her, of course, because no one could replace her. But to fill in the gaps that were there in their own way, someone who didn't mind it was Kate's shoes they had to fill...that seemed impossible at this rate.

Gibbs nudged him and McGee snapped his head up from the point he was staring at near the floor. "What are you thinking about?" Gibbs asked.

"Kate. The agents we've had here and there. Moving on," McGee shrugged. "It's hard, but it's happening, a little bit." Gibbs nodded and stepped in the elevator, McGee following. "So, what were you thinking about doing when we go home?" the younger man asked.

"Dinner, and then either playing with toys or letting you and Tony work on that book you two are talking about. Not TV or music tonight, I can feel a headache coming on, and it's a big one," Gibbs said.

McGee nodded and leaned against the elevator wall. He could feel Timmy itching to come out, but he wanted to hold off for a little while longer. Something was nagging at the back of his brain, and it told him he should drive his own car tonight. "If it's all the same, boss, I think I'll drive myself to your house tonight. I'm not sure I could take your break-neck driving pace tonight, and I'd feel better if I were behind the wheel."

A look crossed Gibbs' face at that. Something like...irritation? Anger? McGee couldn't tell, because it was gone as soon as it was there. "You sure, McGee?"

"Yeah," McGee said. He frowned. "Why? Is there any reason you wanted to drive me?"

Gibbs didn't reply.

"I just feel better having a way out, you know that," McGee said.

The elevator opened and both of them walked out. "I do know that," Gibbs said. "I just want to show you that you don't need a way out when it comes to our family."

McGee shrugged. "You know how likely I _actually_  am to leave? It's just security. Nothing else."

Gibbs nodded. "Okay. Go ahead and drive to my place. Just be safe."

"Always," McGee promised as the two of them separated to their respective cars.

McGee drove out of the parking lot and wondered why exactly Gibbs didn't want him driving himself tonight of all nights. Usually Gibbs wanted McGee to go home with someone else unless he knew he'd have to go home before bed, but he didn't react negatively when McGee said no. His thoughts occupied him the entire way to Gibbs' house, and McGee frowned when he noticed a car he didn't recognize in the driveway. It might be Palmer's, but...his gut, while not as good as Tony's, and certainly not as good as Gibbs', was telling him otherwise.

Though Gibbs was coming out of his house, so McGee didn't have any more time to think about it. He took a deep breath and let Timmy take the lead, stepping out of the car and running toward his Papa. Papa accepted the hug, but he was stiff about it. Timmy pulled away. "Somethin' wrong?" he asked.

Papa sucked in a breath. "There's someone here who I want you to meet," he said. "And I'm not sure if you'll like her or not."

Timmy frowned and crossed his arms. "'Her'?"

Papa nodded and crooked a finger. Timmy chewed his lip but followed Papa into the house. He looked into the living room and froze. There was a woman there, with a clipboard and pencil in hand, sitting on the floor and talking with Tony, who was playing with his old GI Joe. She looked up and smiled disarmingly at Timmy. Timmy turned to Papa in alarm. Papa held his hands up. "Timmy, you know as well as I do that legally, you have to do a psych eval after a traumatic event. I managed to find a certified therapist who has open-minded views on littles. The agency will accept her evaluations, and she'll leave out the particulars that NCIS doesn't need to hear. Sound good?"

No. No, that did not sound good at _all_. Timmy turned around and walked out of the house without saying a word, going back to his car.

"Where do you think you're going?" Papa asked, following him out.

"My apartmen'," Timmy said, pulling out his keys. He had never driven while little before, but it couldn't be _that_  hard.

Papa grabbed his arm, and Timmy's blood ran cold. All he could think about was the other times when someone had grabbed his arms like that. And it usually ended in punishment. "No, you're _not_ ," Papa said.

Timmy refused to turn around, shaking his arm free of Papa's grip. "Yes I am," he said resolutely. "I can' stay _here_ , anyway."

Papa's footsteps came fast as he circled in front of Timmy. "I can't let you drive like this, kiddo."

Timmy stared at the ground, unable to look at Papa in the eyes. He dropped his keys to the cement, and when Papa leaned down to pick them up, he ran.

  
_1, 2. 1, 2. In, out. Attaboy, keep it up_. Timmy kept a monologue going in his head as he ran down the street, breaths going in his lungs slowly and coming out in short bursts. He ran to the farthest bus stop he knew would take him where he wanted to go, just as the bus pulled up. He didn't even know if someone was following him, just took out his wallet to pay the fare and walked to the middle of the bus, where there was an empty window seat. The bus pulled away and Timmy traced the objects moving past with his eyes, until he spotted Papa running on the sidewalk toward the bus. His eyes connected with Papa's for half a second, before the bus moved past him and Timmy could draw his eyes away. But the shear fear he saw in Papa's eyes for that brief second...he swallowed. No. Couldn't think like that. Thoughts like that might make him go back, which he couldn't do.

He rode the bus to the closest Metro station, the Shady Grove stop on the red line, and got off quickly, trying to figure out which stops he'd need to switch lines if he wanted to get back to his place. He walked into the station, his footsteps echoing off the tile. He was surrounded by noise, people leaving and entering the station, chatting, listening to music loud enough to bleed from their headphones, or just dragging their feet along the ground. He swallowed and continued forward, to the kiosks where he could get a ticket. He had been on the Metro before, and he knew his personal stop. All he had to do was get to Morgan Boulevard, and he was almost at his place.

He bought the ticket he needed and got through the turnstiles before his phone rang. The caller ID told him it was Papa, and he put his phone on vibrate and then put it away, so that other people didn't send him nasty looks. That didn't mean it wasn't annoying whenever it started to buzz against the inside of his coat pocket, though. It itched him through the layers of fabric, and aggravated his already frayed nerves.

Time passed quickly and not at all on the train. Thankfully for Timmy, Agent McGee's phone stopped buzzing when they went underground, and he didn't miss his stop to get on the blue line. He chewed on his fingernails, which he didn't normally do even when little unless extremely stressed. When he got off on his final stop, he got out of the station as quickly as possible. His phone started to buzz again and he cringed. Not tonight. He wasn't big enough to deal with this tonight.

Timmy wasn't entirely sure how he got home, just that he managed to close the door behind him without being questioned by any of his neighbors. He took off his coat and threw his phone on his writing desk for the night. He shuffled to his room and went to his closet. When he was this panicked, there were one or two things he kept in there to help him calm down. Of course, he had to be careful, because if he didn't look where he was reaching, he might grab a belt by mistake, and make the whole situation worse.

Tonight, though, his hands knew exactly where they were reaching and pulled out an old toy record player that he couldn't remember ever _not_  having. It came with 5 thick plastic "records," each of them with a song on each side, and they were stored in the hollowed-out space under the turntable. Timmy set it on the floor carefully and sat in front of it, pulling out the record that happened to be on top, wound the dial that would make the record spin, put it on the turntable and turned the toy on. _London Bridge_  started playing in a cheery, music-box styled tune. He sat there, focusing on nothing but the music, until it stopped.

His heart rate quickened and all the blood drained from his face when that happened, and he quickly rewound the player, this time adding a few extra turns for good measure. If the music was playing, then nothing could get to him. His father wouldn't hear anything he was or wasn't doing over it, the monsters would be scared to get too close, and he could just sit in peace. He tucked his knees under his chin and rewound the player when it started to slow down. And again. And again. And again. Couldn't let the music stop. That was too dangerous.

Time passed around Timmy as _London Bridge_  continued to play, but Timmy didn't move with it. He just sat there, staring at the turning record, and rewinding the record player every once in a while. It was only when someone put their hands on his shoulders and he jumped that he realized the sun had set outside his windows and he must have been sitting there for at least an hour and a half. _London Bridge_  was still going strong. And Papa was kneeling in front of him, deep concern on his face. "Hey, kiddo. Are you okay?"

Timmy glanced at the record player and tried to gauge when he'd need to rewind it, and if Papa would let him do that during this conversation. Deciding to be safe rather than sorry, he gave the player several swift winds before looking at a point behind Papa and nodding. Papa looked at the record player. "This yours?"

Another nod.

"From when you were a kid?"

Nod.

"You never mentioned it."

A shrug. Timmy didn't think he really needed to. It was private.

"Hey, kiddo? Could you try and use your words to answer the questions?"

Timmy grimaced. Tonight all he wanted to do was be safe from the monsters.

"Please, kiddo. Do you know that we didn't know where you were for 3 hours?"

Timmy's eyes widened in alarm. It only took 45 minutes on the outside to get to his place. How long had he been sitting there?

Papa frowned. "Timmy, have you been sitting here the whole time?"

"...A...apparen'ly...?" Timmy looked at the record player, which was starting to slow down.

He reached for it, but Papa grabbed his hands. "Timmy, I need you to focus."

Timmy whined and tried to pull his hands away, but this time, Papa wasn't letting go. The boy's panic was rising. "N-no! Gotta wind it!"

Papa didn't let go, no matter how hard Timmy pulled, and the record player ground to a stop. Timmy gave one last tug, and upon finding Papa wasn't letting go of his hands so he could wind the record player, burst into frightened tears.

Almost immediately, Papa released his hands and Timmy lunged at the record player, fingers fumbling at the dial. But it wasn't the fact that it wasn't wound up that meant it wasn't playing.

The batteries were dead.

Timmy cried harder when the record refused to play, and curled in a ball on the floor. He couldn't deal with this. Not tonight.

Papa wrapped his arms around him, and just as Timmy was about to struggle away, started to sing _London Bridge_  in a murmur. Timmy stopped struggling in shock as Papa moved him to a sitting position and continued to sing, a little louder. The boy sniffled and rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the tears that were falling down his face. Papa stopped singing when Timmy had stopped crying, and kissed the boy on the forehead. "Timmy, you know you just might make me worry about you more than Tony and DiNozzo combined."

"S-s-sorr-y."

"Don't apologize," Papa said. "You need that kind of attention, and I'm more than willing to give it."

Timmy sniffled again and buried his head in Papa's shirt. "Was bad," he mumbled.

Papa sighed, and Timmy felt calmer when he could feel the rumble of Papa's chest as he spoke. "You know part of you is an adult in that brain, kiddo. Technically I couldn't keep you at my house if you didn't want to be there, though I would have appreciated you answering my calls."

Timmy didn't respond. He still felt on edge that his record player wouldn't play, but Papa was better at scaring away monsters than any music.

"Kiddo, why did you run when you saw the therapist? You know it's standard procedure to do psych evals. You've done them before."

"I..." Timmy swallowed. His words were getting caught in his throat. "I was worried that you'd...you'd make me talk about Daddy."

Papa squeezed him lightly. "Timmy, I'd like you to talk to someone about that, but if you're not comfortable with it, I won't force you to spill all your deepest, darkest secrets."

"P-p'omise?" the boy asked hopefully.

Papa nodded into Timmy's hair. "Mm-hm. And tell you what. You don't have to talk to the therapist tonight. You can talk to her tomorrow at work, since I think you've had enough excitement for one day. We can just stay here, and we can listen to music, until you feel safe enough to sleep tonight. DiNozzo went home after his time with the therapist, so it can be just you and me tonight. Would you like that? Hm?"

Timmy looked up at Papa, yawned, and nodded.

"Aw, is my little boy tired?" Papa teased.

Timmy shook his head. "Nuh-uh," he yawned.

"I think you are. C'mon, let's get you ready for bed, at least. And then we can get some food in your tummy."

Timmy stood up with Papa and let the man change him and get him ready for bed. He sat still at his dinner table while Papa made some instant noodles for them to share. And by the time he had finished eating, his head was lolling to the side. Papa helped him stand up and led him to his bed, tucking him in. Timmy whined when Papa went to leave the room.

Papa turned around and looked at Timmy. "You want me to stay here with you?"

Timmy nodded.

Papa smiled and sat on the edge of Timmy's bed, carding his fingers through the boys hair and humming _London Bridge_  again, until Timmy felt content and safe enough to fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I started a Tumblr for the series, if you guys are curious! It's at gibbsfamily.tumblr.com, and it'll be me posting moodboards, and reblogging pictures, and talking about headcanons for the series that don't make it into fics, and answering _your_ questions, if you want to ask them!


End file.
